


Heaven's Sold Out

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rob doesn't pray any more, because Heaven is sold out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven's Sold Out

They don’t visit any more. His friends, that is. They used to come see him every day, worrying about him and asking him questions he never answered. He’d sit on his bed and stare at the grey, over-cast sky beyond his tiny window. The window, it has bars on either side, with chicken wire in the middle of the two panes. Even if he was small enough to fit through the tiny window, he’d never escape.

About the time of Chester’s suicide, that’s when they all stopped coming to see him.

Rob sat curled up on his bed, staring at the blood spots dried and turning brown against the cold grey concrete of the floor. They’d bandaged his wounds and cut his nails, but they couldn’t protect him forever. The broken tile on the window sill had gone un-noticed by the orderlies and the nurses so far, and even if they found it, Rob would simply discover another way to hurt himself.

Adaptation, he thinks it’s called.

Mike had come to see him right after he’d been admitted. The emcee had knelt by his bedside, all holy and biblical, his hands clasped together the way a desperate man would pray and he was asking “why? Why, Rob, why did you do it?”

Once Sam left, the only thing left had been Draven. The little boy hadn’t really understood what was going on, moving from house to house every month and being kissed good night by only one of his parents. When Chester brought him to the studio one time, the confusion was evident on the toddler’s face. He wanted his mommy and his daddy.

How dare they cart him between the two?

How dare Sam lumber Chester with more than he could handle?

Rob could see the exhaustion of raising his son with little support etched into the singer’s features. He’d done everyone a favour. Chester was useless when he was tired, and that kid was wearing him out.

He’d been babysitting, and Chester had warned him, warned him repeatedly “Keep Draven away from the pool. He can’t swim.”

In the morning, after a call from a concerned neighbor, the police found Draven’s body. Multiple stab wounds, they’d said, multiple stab wounds and suffocation. He didn’t drown in the pool, they said, it must have all happened in the house. The pool, it was just a dumping ground.

They found Rob in the bathroom, bloody knife clutched tightly in his hand, his arms shredded and blood pooling around him. In a soft, breathy voice he explained, “He fell. In the pool. Draven fell.”

The police had wanted to arrest the drummer there and then. They’d wanted to lock him up, put him away. As they held back a screaming, frantic Chester, the psychiatrist examined Rob closely. They were going to take him in, she said, just for observation. The police could arrest him once he was diagnosed.

Five years on. Here is Rob, cradling his bandaged arm to his chest. He stopped praying a long time ago for them to diagnose him. He stopped praying, period. He once prayed for his friends to come and talk to him. Joe was the last to come by. The DJ told Rob in a monotone “He’s dead,” he muttered, “they found him this morning hanging from his curtain rail.” He’d sighed at Rob’s blank look, “Chester killed himself, Rob. Don’t you care?”

Rob blinked slowly before curling up, his entire body convulsing as he let out an ear-piercing shriek, long and keening and heartbreaking to hear. He curled up and screamed until Joe left and the orderlies arrived. They injected something into his veins and the world around him clouded, blurred and was thrown out of focus.

He stopped praying a long time ago, because he’s pretty sure that heaven is sold out, by now.


End file.
